Luyện nghe bài hát Color My World Mine

I met a man who trained himself not to dream
What he seems to have seen was a glimpse of
been painting pictures on canvas since age thirteen
And claims he only exists in the of a higher being
And I enjoy his work; mostly landscapes
But each one is focused on an easel where the man paints himself painting
And all in his visual field
He said this was the only way he make himself real
Ever since he remember, he had one nightmare reoccur
But until about ten years ago, it matter
It consisted of loud, distorted sounds off the concrete
He ran on top of it in attempt to reach a
Now sometimes, he'd get so close but never touch his
Which caused him much 'cause he didn't know what it meant
And by the end of the dream, he saw the from a bird's eye
Only to his dead body laying on the cement

It was only to witness his dead body laying on the
At first it freaked him out, but after a while he grew
So he thought, "It's just a dream," and living his life
Writing his soul on the canvas 'cause it sheds his light
And it goes on and on like space and time, ain't odd
not that he didn't believe, he just didn't approve of God
His was one I couldn't comprehend
'Till I stopped being detective and listened to him as a
He

He once saw a painting that his whole life story
It was that he knew he was the art of divinity
He once saw a painting that his whole life story
A brush of the gods made him one note in their symphony
He once saw a painting told his whole life story
He spoke for himself and not the rest of
He once saw a painting told his whole life story
And I that I'm not real
God just me

It's like I
About ten years ago, the event that changed his whole
Took place on his monthly to the local art gallery
It was there where he studied his
And there where he carried his sanity to a hole and buried it forever
It was a very day
The was almost empty
And he got chills his spine just being present in the scene
On the wall, was a picture that looked familiar
And when he got close, his heart
he saw it was a painting of his dream
It was a of his dream
His on a runway
By a ladder to an airplane with its spinning
Which accounted for the noise
The up was perfect
And was the day he stopped believing in existing
He resented his
I mean, words explain
What have went on in his brain while he stared into a frame
Of a of art which he created and was at the same time
The mind can't handle much, it's just insane
It's like a book where each words describe your thoughts
And in quotations, it whatever you say when you talk
You think it happen
But it did
I guess there's surprisingly wide cracks in life's sidewalk
He stumbled upon an answer when he had a question
And decided to stop dreaming to maintain his mental
Now he hardly talks to
Just stays in his
infinity, by painting himself
Painting
This is a universe
Is it all just a
In the real universe, is my useless?
Are we really a higher intelligence made up?
A figment of colored by a cosmic paintbrush?
Maybe all of our art the fate of other beings
Then every character in ever novel it's alive and were just gods
blindly
Just a
I know what it means
But that's the of the man who trained himself not to dream

He once saw a that told his whole life story
He witnessed the of the word "existing"
He once saw a painting that told his whole story
He colored his world theirs, and concluded he wasn't
He once saw a painting that told his whole story
The variable that all that is is art
And when I my eyes, I see eternity as a story
A God imagined the God that me
And I am God
And so on